She sends me esoteric Happy meals that include:

Fried mushrooms of dubious origin
cookies with fortunes wrapped around the outside
and little poems written on napkins

I'm sliding down your banister, again
All the way to the floor
where you'll Spin me
around and around

When I ask her what they mean,
She blows a straw wrapper across the table
And laughs

"They don't mean anything."

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